Rants and meanderings from a science fiction writer to his future fans, or anyone else who'll listen, for that matter.

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Mr. Hellstrøm is an average drunken profligate, cynical bastard (read: disappointed romantic), and all-round lazy crazy son-of-a-bitch out to become a cult in his own right, shamelessly promoting himself (haha, good luck with that old boy) and the book before it is even done. Nonetheless, he does have an interesting slant on things now and again, as I can testify. After all, no one knows him better than I do.

I Wish I Was Russian

For God’s sake, why? you are asking yourself. Because every Russian I ever met knew how to suffer. A delightful capability for suffering, for being despondent. They raise the art of melancholy to the highest possible level. They have a knack for sorrow. They are so skillfully world weary that it boggles even my mind. Not to mention their truly enviable capacity for vodka.